


put a little love on me

by nerdybutpunk



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Boys Kissing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fighting, Hurt!Simon, Idiots in Love, M/M, Making Up, Miscommunication, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Loves Simon Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:07:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22869103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdybutpunk/pseuds/nerdybutpunk
Summary: Baz seemingly touches everyone but Simon. Simon jumps to conclusions.Or, a heavy dose of Simon!angst followed up by Talking About Feelings, Love Declarations, and some romantic smut!
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 5
Kudos: 285





	put a little love on me

**Simon**

I notice it slowly, the way I notice most things. The way he always brushes his hand across the top of Mordelia’s head as he passes her, the way he’ll always get the other two girls up in the morning and I can find them curled up on the couch together watching cartoons. How he’ll pluck the baby out of whoever’s arms and just sit like that for hours. He’ll touch his step-mother's shoulder and bend to hook his chin over Vera’s when she cooks. It’s casual, the way most things with Baz are, and that’s why it snuck up on me. 

Baz is extremely tactile, but he never touches me. Well, he’ll never touch me  _ first _ . If I pull him to me, or slide a hand into his back pocket or curl up around him in bed, he’ll give this soft little sigh and relax into it. If it were up to him, though? We’d never touch. I’m sure of it. 

I come to this crushing realization on a Thursday afternoon, and make a stupid excuse to leave. I can tell Baz doesn’t believe me, but if he’s hurt he doesn’t let it show on his face. 

“Simon!” Penny says when I shuffle my way into the flat, “I thought you and Baz were spending two weeks up with the family?” 

I like the way she says it.  _ The family _ , as if we're all a part of it now. As if I have one of those, now. A family. Thinking about it nearly gives me the same feeling my magic used to, when it prickles under my skin. I probably won’t have  _ the family  _ for much longer, not after this. 

“Baz doesn’t touch me,” I say as I flop down onto the couch, and Penny’s eyebrows go up. 

“Simon, we’ve talked about talking about your sex life.” 

I can’t help but turn red. We used to talk about sex a lot, the way best friends do, until I let it slip that sometimes I think about Baz biting me (biting, never Turning) me in the middle of it, and now she’s banned the topic. 

(Mostly.) 

(It’s more of a joke than anything.) 

“No,” I say, because this isn’t about sex. He’ll have sex with me fine, (more than fine. Sex with Baz is… well I don’t have much to compare it to, but I understand what people mean by looking “fucked out’ now, as I’ve seen it in the mirror more than enough times, and I’m intimately aware of what ‘making love’ is.)

(Fuck, I need to stop thinking about having sex with Baz). 

“Well,” I continue, “maybe that’s part of the problem. He won’t touch me  _ outside  _ of sex. Not if I don’t touch him first.” 

Penny frowns. “He won’t initiate?” 

I shake my head. “Not outside of sex.” Saying it out loud makes a pit form in my chest. He  _ had  _ initiated sex, a day and a half ago. We had just woken up, and he pressed open mouth kisses down my spine until he — okay, not the time. 

“Have you talked to him about it?” She asks, and I send her a Look. “Si,” she says, “tell me you didn’t just up and leave his family home without talking about it.” 

I start to get frustrated. “Penny, I’ve just come to the realization that my boyfriend, the man I love, the man who has a ring waiting for him in my sock drawer is using me for sex. I’m sorry if I high-tailed it out of there instead of sticking around to get my heart broken.”

She looks shocked about the ring, and I realize I haven’t exactly told her about it yet. We’ve been out of Watford for two years now, I’ve been emotionally stable for the past year of it, and I love him. I am (was?) planning to make the proposal night-sky related because that’s how his mother did it, and I know it would mean a lot to him. 

She looks like she’s about to cry, which is absurd, but then she’s shuffling over to my side of the couch and wrapping me in a hug, and I let myself sink into it, into the comfort. “It could be a misunderstanding,” she tries. “Baz looks at you… he looks at you and his entire face changes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone’s eyes go as soft as his when you’re in the room.” 

“Maybe he’s thinking of someone else.” I feel my heart break as I say it, but I keep going. “He loved me in eighth year, but feelings fade. Maybe it was a product of us being so close to each other, and now he’s found a bloke that’s like him — gorgeous and smart and so fucking cool.” 

My thoughts drift to him thinking of someone else when I touch him, when he’s moving in me, and I start to cry. Big, ugly tears. He wouldn’t have left me last year, not when I could barely get off the couch. Maybe he’s lost the will to do it now, maybe he’s seeing the other bloke in secret. He’s never used the wrong name, but he buries his face in my neck a lot, or shuts his eyes. I never thought of myself as repulsive before — Agatha and I never got further than a hand up her skirt or down my trousers, but I know she found me attractive. Not like Baz, of course, but she often said I was well fit. I get up from the couch, jostling Penny with a half-hearted apology, and make my way into the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror.

I’ve always been thick. And I don’t mean that in the way Baz teases me or the way Penny says ‘with two Cs’. I’m just. Big. My nose is crooked from having it broken so many times. My eyes are always wild, and my curls are poorly kept. My thighs are big for a guy, I think. I shrug out of my shirt and trousers, and then eventually my pants. I’m standing in front of the mirror completely naked, poking and prodding at myself. Baz’s stomach is completely flat, but I have a small pouch. My arse isn’t anything special, and there’s a dimple on my right cheek. Stretch marks adorn my calves, back, and hip. Scars are littered everywhere, with a bad few on my forearm from when I got bad last year. My moles and freckles look out of place. I wonder if the guy Baz is seeing and touching has smooth, unblemished skin. If his teeth aren’t crooked. If he knows how to attend posh family functions without having to excuse himself due to a panic attack. 

There’s a knock on the door, and I don’t even bother to act like I heard it. The doorknob jingles, and I have a moment of pure, hot-white fear, before I remember I locked it. “Simon,” and that’s Baz, on the other side of the door, voice heartbreakingly soft. “Simon, love, please let me in.” 

I want to scream. Penny should have kicked him out, should have screamed herself hoarse instead of letting him come in here. He’s going to break up with me, I know it. He’s going to break up with me as I’m sobbing and naked on the bathroom floor and he’s going to tell everyone about it, about his ultimate plot against me. 

(I know I’m not being fair. Baz isn’t the boy from school, and hasn’t been in a while.) 

(It just hurts, so much.) 

The door rattled again, and I move into the tub, because I feel too exposed in the middle of the bathroom. I hear him sigh through the door, and then a vague thump, as if he’s rested his head against it. I go back to counting and cataloguing my flaws as best I can without a mirror. 

I barely notice as the door opens, but I look up and Baz’s face is crumpled, his bottom lip wobbling just slightly. His hair is mussed and he hadn’t even changed out of his pyjamas. I let out a desperate, broken noise, and he’s beside me in an instant. 

**Baz**

The minute he lets me in I’m kneeling beside him in the tub. He’s not wearing a stitch of clothing, and his face is a mess of snot and tears. 

My beautiful fucking nightmare. 

“Simon, love,” I say again, “what’s wrong?” I want so badly to reach out to touch him, to smooth his hair back off his face, but I don’t deserve to. It’s enough that he lets me sometimes, that he’ll initiate and let me touch him in all the ways — innocent or not — I’ve been dreaming of since fifth year. I’ve hurt him too much to be allowed to touch him first, to believe that I’ve earned that right, to touch this beautiful boy when all my touches in the past have hurt. 

It’s not easy, I’m tactile by nature. I’ll deny it with my dying breath, but touch has always grounded me. 

“You don’t want me,” Simon sobs, and my heart breaks. 

“Darling, I’ll want you for as long as there is air in my lungs. There is not a day that goes by where I do not love you so much that being without you would feel like suffocating.” A bit dramatic, but Simon deserves dramatic, he deserves everything. 

He's quiet for a moment, shoulders shaking. He wipes at his face, and I wordlessly reach to grab and wet a cloth for him. He takes it, and I let my fingers brush his with the barest of touches. 

“You don’t touch me,” he says, and I know I’ve fucked up monumentally. “You don’t touch me, but you’ll touch everybody else. You only touch me if I touch you first, or if it’s for sex. I know I’m not thin like you or attractive like your friends, but you said — I mean I thought —” he cuts himself off, and out of habit I nearly turn away to wipe at the tears that I couldn’t quite hold back. Instead, I let him see. I gesture him forwards, and he goes, allowing me to turn the tap on and set it to a warm temperature. He grabs the stopper from the corner of the tub, and I get up and shrug out of my pyjamas. He deserves the vulnerability. 

I climb into the tub and settle into the water, before reaching out for him and pulling him to my chest. I finally let my fingers sink into his hair like I want to, and his eyes close at the contact. 

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like this,” I say softly. “I guess I thought I was helping you and your recovery by never being the one to reach out first.” 

He lets out a little noise of confusion, and I kiss the crown of his head. “I used my hands and my magic to hurt you so much, before we got together. I didn’t feel like I should be reaching out to you with these same hands. You should have complete control over how and when and where I touch you.” I move from his hair down to the nape of his neck, massaging there. 

“I thought it was me,” Simon says, squirming where he sits. “I thought maybe you weren’t attracted to me or something.” 

I can’t help but laugh. “Simon, I spent an entire summer wanking because I thought it would resolve me of my attraction to you. I want you with everything in me. Do you even know what you look like? I want to be kissing you every moment of every day.” 

He flushes, and I kiss him behind the ear. “I’m sorry that I made you think those things, and that it’s caused you such distress. It’s not just about sex for me, Simon. If you told me we could never have sex again, I’d still want you. Some of my favourite moments are when you just curl into me and let me play with your hair as I read. Or when we sit and play board games all day. Simon, you’re the only person I’ve ever wanted.” 

“I feel stupid now,” he says, leaning his head back against my shoulder. “I just thought back to seeing you always be so openly affectionate in your own way with everyone that I felt like maybe it was something wrong with me. I thought maybe you were seeing someone else.” He pauses for a heartbeat. “And you have full permission to touch me whenever you want. It wasn’t like our fighting was one-sided, after all.” 

I startle a bit. “Simon, there’s no one else.”    
“I know that now,” he says, “it was just a panicked thought. You close your eyes and bury your face in my neck a lot when we fuck, and my brain ran with it.” 

I try not to laugh. “Simon, I do that so I don’t come immediately. You have no idea what you look like when we’re having sex, do you?” 

“Well, did you bring your wand?” he asks, and I nod. I don’t think I’ve gone anywhere without my wand for as long as I’ve had it, numpty situation notwithstanding. 

“Yes, why?” 

“Well, you could always  _ show  _ me,” Simon says slyly, and I’m a little ashamed of how quickly my body responds to his insinuation. 

**Simon**

He digs his hands into my hips, and I smile. 

“Are you sure?” He asks, “you were really upset, a minute ago.” 

“I’m sure,” I say, “I want you to fuck me, Baz Pitch. Enough to leave me sore,  _ please _ .” 

“You’re a nightmare,” he says with a kiss to my shoulder, but his fingers dig in just the slightest bit more. He sighs as if this is one big inconvenience despite the way his hands sneak down to cup my ass as he hefts is both up and out of the tub. I moan a bit, partly because it’s so fucking  _ hot  _ when he does that, and partly because of his hands spreading me apart as he moves. 

(Okay, it’s  _ mostly  _ because of how hot it is when he shows off how strong he is. It triggers some monkey brain bullshit.) 

He doesn’t bother with a towel for either of us, and I panic before he tells me that Penelope left after letting him in, probably seeing that this would happen. 

He traces a dry finger over my hole as he walks us to my bedroom, and I bite down onto his shoulder. He places me gently on the bed and pushes me so that I’m lying down. “Stay here,” he says before he’s gone again. I watch his arse as he leaves and have to reach down to fist my cock. 

His eyes darken when he comes back and sees what I’m doing, and mumbles something that makes the entire ceiling a sheet of reflective glass. I instinctively look away from my reflection, but Baz tuts and tilts my head until I’m meeting my own eyes. “You won’t look away from there unless I tell you so, alright?” 

I nod silently, and he grins, kissing the corner of my mouth. “You know what you can say if you don’t like anything I’m doing, right?” 

“Numpty,” I say with a giggle, and he rolls his eyes. 

“Good, now just lay back and watch.” 

He crawls his way on top of me, and presses kisses against my cheeks, my forehead, my nose. His hands wander, from my shoulders down to the tips of my fingers, back up and across my chest. He kisses my throat, biting down with (blunt, human) teeth. His pinches and rolls my nipples between his fingers, making me moan and arch up into him. His teeth and tongue replace his hands and I almost regret letting him find out how sensitive I am, here. 

“Baz, please,” I whimper, seeing the way his back muscles shift in the mirror as he shifts himself to get comfortable. 

“Please what, love?” he asks, reaching a hand down to card through the hair just below my navel. I’m a bit embarrassed at the noise I make in response. 

“You said you were going to fuck me,” I whine, and he just barely grazes my cock with his hand. 

“Did I?” 

**Baz**

He’s so fucking gorgeous like this, spread out in front of me, thighs shaking and face flushed. His cock is leaking precome, and he has one hand tangled in his curls, the other gripping the sheets. I’ve just barely touched him, and he’s a wreck. 

It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. 

I tell him as much, and he blushes and turns his head away from the mirror. I pinch his thigh, and his gaze is affixed back to it. “I told you to keep looking,” I say. 

“Sorry,” he says, but the little shit doesn’t sound sorry at all. I press kisses down his sternum, pausing when I get to the softness of his stomach. He squirms, and I (carefully, always carefully) suck a mark into the skin. He thinks I don’t know how self-conscious he is about his stomach, and I don’t have any intentions of telling him. I’d rather him have some padding on him than look the sickly way he used to at the start of every term. 

(And it may just be plain attractive on him, sue me.) 

I kiss lower, looking up at him as I go. His eyes are still on the mirror, but every few seconds they flutter closed. I don’t call him on it, instead taking him into my mouth all at once. 

He shouts, and I don’t hesitate, hollowing my cheeks and sucking on what I can fit in my mouth, stroking what I can’t. One of his hands comes to tug at my hair and I groan around his cock, eyes closing. I gently shift my body just enough that I can use my unoccupied hand to grab for my wand and pull up off Simon’s cock just long enough to mutter a spell to coat my fingers, sinking back down and sliding a finger into him at the same time. 

His entire body shudders as he pulses in my mouth, and I swallow him greedily. I draw my finger out and push back in, and he makes a keening noise that goes straight to my cock. 

I pull off his cock when his whimpers turn pitiful, but add another finger. “Gorgeous boy,” I say as he writhes. “I love you so much.” 

“I love you too,” he breathes, “but if you don’t fuck me in the next thirty seconds I’m going to find a way to get my magic back just so I can hex your dick off.” 

I crawl back over him to kiss him again, and curse when he wraps a hand around me. The kiss is nothing more than teeth and tongue, desperate and so good that I’m a bit scared I’m going to shoot off if he doesn’t stop touching me. “Simon, love,” I groan, and he smirks. 

“Yes, dear?” 

“You’re going to be the death of me.” 

“Well, at least you’ll go out doing something you love,” he teases. 

I push into him slowly, watching his face for even the slightest bit of discomfort. When I bottom out he’s completely wrecked, cock hard again and breathing uneven. I try to set a slow pace, but he’s having none of it, rocking back against me impatiently. 

I roll us so he’s on top, and he mewls at the change of position. “There we go,” I say, “take what you need, love.” 

He sets a brutal pace, mirror forgotten. I have no other choice but to grab his hips and hold on. I wrap one hand around his cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts. 

“Simon,” I groan, gathering him in my arms and moving against the headboard so that we’re chest to chest. I bury my face in his neck and snap my hips, his cries echoing around the small room. 

“I’m close,” he whimpers, and I fight the urge to bite down, my fangs popping. It isn’t the first time it’s happened during sex, but I’m mortified all the same. I take his cock in hand again and stroke, trying my damndest to hold on the entire time. 

He’s chanting something under his breath as he moves with me, and it takes me a minute to recognize what he’s saying. 

_ Bite me bite me bite me  _

“Simon,” I choke, 

“Baz, please. We know it won’t Turn me if you don’t use any venom.” 

He’s right. He’s right and this is so dangerous, and if I hadn’t tasted his blood before I’d disagree vehemently. But he’s  _ begging  _ me, and I’m only a man. 

I bite down, and then we’re both shouting as we come, my fingers definitely leaving bruises on Simon’s hips, and his own teeth dug into my shoulder. It seems to last forever, pulse after pulse and once the aftershocks pass and my fangs retreat, I sag against the headboard. I don’t think I can feel any part of me that isn’t pressed against Simon’s. My mouth tastes like his blood, and I lick the side of his neck, healing the puncture parks there. I shudder as I feel myself twitch inside him. 

“You’re a fucking nightmare,” I say. 

“Mhm,” Simon nods, clearly disoriented still. It takes him a minute to orient himself, and when he does, I go to lift him off of me. “No,” he whimpers, and I raise an eyebrow. 

He blushes. “Close,” he says as an explanation, and I get it. We won’t be able to stay like this for long, but I wrestle the blankets out from underneath us and wrap him in them, finding my wand amongst the wreckage. I cast a barrage of healing spells at his neck just in case, but he seems completely fine. 

I massage his thighs and arms as we sit, and when he finally comes all the way around, he grins at me so earnestly with his big blue eyes that I can’t help but kiss his nose. “I love you,” he murmurs. 

“I love you too, Simon.” 

He scrambles off of me after a beat, and I hiss at the feeling of him pulling off. “Gentle,” I admonish, and he gives me a sheepish smile. He makes his way to his dresser, and my cock gives a valiant try at getting hard again as I watch him move. 

He rummages through a drawer, and I feel my stomach drop to my feet when I see the little black box. 

“Baz,” he says as he crawls on top of me again, sitting on my thighs. Tears spring to my eyes unbidden, and I can’t help the small smile. 

“I love you, and today made me realize that there’s never going to be anyone that I will love as much as I love you, and you made it quite clear you feel the same. I’ve been trying to do this for ages the magical way, but you’re going to have to settle for the Normal way. Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, will you marry me?” 

The ring is an antique, and I don’t have to ask to know it’s probably one of the few things he has from his mother. I can’t speak, so I nod, and then there’s a ring on my finger and we’re kissing again. 

(Or well, as best we can.) 

(It’s hard to kiss when you’re smiling as wide as we are.) 


End file.
